


The Womble of University Park

by Barcardivodka



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Wombles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The park had been his clans home for generations, womble and human had lived side by side in harmony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Womble of University Park

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've written a womble in Ripper Street, so why not Lewis.
> 
> Just a bit of nonsense.

The young womble, Shakespeare, snuggled closer to Hathaway’s side, burrowing his snout into the soft fabric of the human’s top. Hathaway’s arm curled around him, making Shakespeare feel even more secure and protected. Hathaway’s voice rumbled as he read aloud into the dawn air.

Hathaway always came to the park in the pre-dawn; he always sat on the same bench and would wait for Shakespeare to join him. They would sit together; Shakespeare hugged closely to the human’s side. It was what Shakespeare’s clan had once done, huddle together and tell their tales, some from days past and others, fresh and new. But he had no clan anymore, only the one made up of humans.

The park had been his clan’s home for generations, womble and human had lived side by side in harmony. When the clan had started to venture from the park and into the city, the humans had passed laws to keep the wombles safe and free from harm.

All had changed a mere five moons ago, when Shakespeare, allowed to forage alone for the first time, returned to the park and found his clan laying on the dew covered grass, unmoving. He had run to each of them, shaking them, pleading with them to rise, but they all remained motionless. With a pounding heart he had search frantically for his mother, calling to her in fear and desperation.

It was an early morning jogger that had come upon the massacre, the entire clan slain, save for one. It had been Hathaway that had gently coaxed the young Shakespeare from his mother’s side and comforted him.

The human’s had buried the womble clan in a quiet corner of the park; Shakespeare had never seen so many humans gathered in once place before, all of them solemn and many of them openly weeping.

It was where Hathaway found him each morning, amongst the graves. He would scramble onto the bench and lean into Hathaway’s side. Once they were settled Hathaway would open his book and read aloud the tales of wombles and humans long-past to Shakespeare and his clan.

As was the wombles tradition.


End file.
